


Blessed

by frances_the_red



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Or Is he?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23411281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red
Summary: “Jaskier, how old are you?”Jaskier stopped banning his loved lute on paper, slowly set his quill down and turned to Ciri. He seemed to think about something for a while, then leaned down to be on the same height with Cirillas eyes, looking at her with pure honesty.“I am going to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone. You mustn’t tell anybody about this. You hear me?” His voice was soft, nearly a whisper.The princess nodded solemnly.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 459





	Blessed

It was a quiet day in Kaer Morhen. There was a snow storm raging and a persistend wind whistled through the battlements, but four Witchers, a princess and a bard didn’t mind.

There was a warm fire crackling in the fireplace of the common room. Vesemir did some repair work on a sheath. Geralt, Lambert and Eskel tended to their leather, oiling saddles and armor, and pretending not to listen in on the lecture Jaskier was giving Ciri while both of them drew. There was a bowl of apples and a lute on the table, serving as motive. Geralt couldn’t help himself but to look at these two from time to time. Ciri was covered in ink because she tended to forget the quill in her hands while talking animatedly. Jaskier fared fine in that department, but would constantly stick out his tongue while concentrating. Anyone else would have called it adorable. Geralt worked hard on suppressing a small, barely noticable smile, a thing that threatened to overcome him regularly these days.   
Everyone was content for once.

It was nice having Jaskier around. When Yennefer announced that she wouldn’t be available this winter to teach Ciri, Vesemir had a slight panic attack. While he was used to teaching fencing and throwing knives, he was in no way equipped to deal with Yennefers strict lesson plan concerning etiquette or calligraphy. Everyone was happy when Jaskier offered freely. 

Oddly enough, the bard settled into their daily life in Kaer Morhen with ease.

He had a knack for dealing with Witchers. It was unsetteling. He flirted with Eskel shamelessly, yanked on Lamberts chain like it was his long lost brother and showed Vesemir nothing but utmost respect. Sure, he complained about the cold constantly and they had some heated words about spontaneously bursting into song after midnight, but he brought a warmth into the old masonry that left all the Witchers somewhat dazzled. Laughter waved through the halls every day, the dark winter nights were filled with music or stories and when it was Jaskiers turn to cook, they often ended up with the most delicious desserts. Eskel was still investigating where all these different nuts, the cocoa and most delicious honey was coming from, but the troubadour must have hidden it very well for even the finest Witcher nose couldn’t unearth the hiding place.

The fact that Jaskier could aktually bake was a thing that Geralt took in stride. The bard always had an odd attraction when it came to curvy baker women. Or kitchen personal in general. He dared to ask about it once. “It’s the hands.” Whatever that means.

Due to his classes he gave at Oxenfurt, teaching Ciri was no hardship to him. As soon as he noticed that the lion cub liked to be productive and could do something with her fingers, even the boring etiquette lessons were bearable for her. It got strange sometimes, - Jaskier thought it a brilliant idea to show her how to braid Geralts hair while explaining how the tides worked - but she was having the time of her life with her new assigned teacher.

“Wait, so I can’t be rude to another king or queen, but it’s okay to say that to a viscount?”  
“You should try not to be rude to anybody at all, princess. Sure, as queen you could tell a duchess that a dress makes her look fat without horrible repercussions. But being openly rude will get you nowhere and is not good on your image. If they walk over you because you are a woman then give them hell. But being rude is just bad style. The actual art is to offend someone politely.”  
Ciri scrunched up her nose. “I don’t get it.”  
“Okay, how about-? … insult Lambert.”  
“OY!”  
Ciri giggled. “Lambert, you smell like horse dung.”  
Lambert threw an oily rag at her.

Jaskier smiled mischievously. “You think so, princess? I believe Lambert has the most exclusive odor you will ever come by. It’s so selected, every stable boy will be envious to reach this intensity of eau naturelle.”

Except for Lambert, who tried to sniff his shirt inconspicuously, there were chuckles all around.

  
“Well you look stupid!”, was Lamberts lame return.  
“I concur. Jaskier, a bolt choice with that doublet as always. You will fit right in with the curtains”, supplied Geralt. Jaskier smiled good-natured while Ciri snickered.

“You try it.”

  
“Vesemir is so old he-” “Oh no honey, don’t do that.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“You should never joke about age. Most people at court, especially women, take their age very seriously. Telling them they look stupid is one thing but implying they look old is a line you should not cross. Do you like being reminded of how young you are? You hate that, right? It’s okay if it’s friends or family, they know you are only teasing. But telling a Countess she has wrinkles or a knight that he should consider an early retirement? It’s just not fair. Aging is a totally normal process. And people who had the hardest life are usually the first ones marked by time. It also reminds people of their mortality. It’s a low blow. There are two exceptions to the rule though: telling your nemesis that she has crow feet or your ex that his hair is thinning out. They will think about it every time they look in a mirror. Go for it. I’m told it’s very effective.” 

Cirilla let that information sink in while drawing another apple-like figure onto her parchment.

“Jaskier, how old are you?”

“Ah, yes. Another thing you should never do. The same reasons apply. People are vain, so never inquire about age. …Except when flirting with people who seem waaaayyy younger than you. But we will cross that particular topic when you start to notice how spectecular my legs are.” He winked at her, which set the girl into fits of giggles again.

Geralt grunted. The White Wolf already planned the most gruesome murder for anyone who even dared to look at his daughter that way. 

“No but seriously, Jaskier. You look exactly like on the day you sang all these funny songs on my fifth birthday. I remember it because it was the best birthday ever, you were wearing this big funny purple hat with a feather on top. How is it possible that you still look the same?”

Jaskier stopped banning his loved lute on paper, slowly set his quill down and turned to Ciri. He seemed to think about something for a while, then leaned down to be on the same height with Cirillas eyes, looking at her with pure honesty. 

“I am going to tell you something. Something I’ve never told anyone. You mustn’t tell anybody about this. You hear me?” His voice was soft, nearly a whisper.

The princess nodded solemnly. 

The bard dared a quick look to check if the witchers were busy with their own work. They all were - or at least pretended to be - absorbed in their tasks. But who was he kidding, they would listen in anyway.

“I was just out of Oxenfurt, alumni summa cum laude, when I decided that I wanted to see all of the northern lands. I had nothing but some coins, my very first lute, a lovely singing voice and wanderlust in my heart. I was so naive, love. But I was the happiest person on earth. At least for a little while. I realised quickly, how unprepared I was. I got robbed pretty quickly. Punched in the face. And the most horrible of all fates: They booed. No matter where I went, absolutely no body appreciated my songs.   
It was one day in particular, when I was just done with it all. My feet haven’t been dry for five days, my arms and legs burned from nettles I fell in, my last coin stolen, my back beaten and my heart broken. I told myself: if there is even one person that would enjoy my songs that day, I would keep going. That would be enough. Just one. Anyone.

And as I was walking through a field of dandelions, I saw this milk maid sitting right there in the middle. Not a girl, not yet a woman. And she looked so devastated and lost. I couldn’t help myself but to sit down right next to her. Because she deserved to be happy, not miserable. And even with tears in her eyes, she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen to that day. I was mesmerized. She looked like spring incarnate. Her hair as fair and bright as the sun, eyes so green it put the grass to shame. And I could have sworn she smelled like the air after a storm - fresh and liberating.” 

Jaskiers mind seemed far away for a moment before he huffed out a little laugh. 

“She looked at me like I was the oddest little fellow. And I suppose I was. Tattered doublet, scratched face, pressing my lute to the chest … every footstep I made there was a squelch, squelch squelch…”   
He imitated the sound, which made Ciri giggle. He grabbed his lute from the table and a soft melody escaped the strings. Ciri smiled and her eyes went wide, because she recognized the catchy song instantly.  
“And as I looked at the most beautiful milk maid in all of Redania, inspiration struck me.

  
_When you're looking at me I've never felt so alive and free_  
_When you're looking at me I've never felt so happy_

_I'm in a field of dandelions_  
_Wishing on every one that you'd be mine, mine_  
_And I see forever in your eyes_  
_Wishing on dandelions all of the time_  
_Praying to God that one day you'll be mine_  
_Wishing on dandelions all of the time, all of the time_

_Dandelion into the wind you go_  
_Won't you let my darling know?_  
_Dandelion into the wind you go_  
_Won't you let my darling know that_

_I'm in a field of dandelions_  
_Wishing on every one that you'd be mine._

  
“And I gave her my handkerchief”-he magicked a little white square of cloth out of his sleeve for effect - “And wiped away her tears. And she smiled the cutest little smile and pecked me on the cheek. Right here. 'May you be blessed with luck',she said. 'Follow me.' And then she stood and ran away laughing. And I sat there for a moment because I was so relieved that I made someone smile with a song. A melody _I_ composed. On the spot. So I shouldered my lute, forgot all my sorrows and followed the way the milk maid ran. East. 

Oddly enough it got easier from there on: there was a band of musicians who greeted me like an old friend, even though we never met before, and we traveled together for a while. We parted ways in Hagge and I followed the road to Dol Blathanna. It just felt right to go east. And on my whole way there, I played my lute, met some nice people and some not so nice people. But I wasn’t robbed again, so that was a plus.”

His eyes settled on Geralt, who was so obviously listening, he didn’t even pretend to work on his armor anymore.

“Funny how things turned out. I traveled as far east as I could go. To Posada. And that’s where I met your dad and my life changed forever.”

The room was quiet for a moment exept for the fire crackling happily.

“As I said, your daddy and I traveled for a while”, Jaskier continued. “And some stuff happened. I got a new lute-” he caressed Filavendels lute like it was one of his lovers - “And I remember that we parted because I wanted to sing in that barding competition on the coast. So all the way back to Oxenfurt it was.” Jaskier sighed deeply. “I really wanted to buy a horse, but coin was always tight and I really wanted to beat that assho- I mean, to beat Valdo Marx. So I walked as fast as I could, the shortest route there was, right through Temeria, into the capital Vizima and from there on a boat, up the Ismena and down the Pontar to the coast.

Wait. You know all northern countries and their capitals, right? Stream names and mountains?”

Ciri shrugged. “Yen is not that much into geography. She has portals and stuff.”

“What _does_ she teach you?”

“The three important ‘M’s. Magic, manslaughter and Make Up.”

Jaskier looks horrified for a second. 

“Kidding.”

The bard tried to ignore the oncoming headache that was obviously a given every time he dealt with ashen-haired people. 

“Where was I? Ah yes, traveling through Temeria. I did not perform a lot, so I could make haste as long as there was daylight to travel. But not performing meant no coin, so when I finally arrived in Vizima I … lost some pounds. Vizima in itself isn’t the safest place to be. Especially not for people who are not willing to part with their money. I don’t like how the inner city smells, there is always some kind of… malady in the air. You want to scrub yourself raw to feel clean again.

Enough money to afford the passage, a skin of watered down wine and a loaf of bread. That’s all I had left. I hoped to get shelter in one of the temples. And as I passed the temple of Miletele right in the heart of the temple quarters, I saw my milk maid again. But she wasn’t a maid anymore. She was a woman now. She had this glow, her breasts and womb lightly swelled. It was obvious she was with child. She had worry lines on her forehead, but also lines of laughter around her mouth and eyes. And she looked at me with this hunger that couldn’t be stilled. Like a fire burning through her, no longer a breezy spring day but the hottest day in summer you can imagine. All sweaty and heady. Bergamot and a hint of”

\- he closed his eyes and inhaled as if he could smell her right now - 

“sea salt and Elbling wine. She just sat there on the portal of Meliteles temple. And she was the most beautiful woman in all of Temeria to me.

And I sat by her side, gave her half of my bread and half of my wine. And while we broke our fast together, I asked if at least some of the dandelions I wished on had brought my message to her ear.”

Jaskier licked his lips, his eyes hazy, seeing pictures that once had been, as if it was just yesterday. 

“And the way she looked at me, I knew that she had also recognized me. That she had heard my plea. And she took me by the hand, fire in her eyes, a feral smile on her full red lips, lay me down in the middle of the temple of Melitele, right below her statue. She took of my doublet with purpose, the fire in her eyes making me overcome with a hot flame myself. And we sang the sweetest duett there ever was”, he whispered hoarsely. 

Heavy breathing permeated the air, someone swallowed audibly. 

“Sing it!”, demanded Ciri, which jerked Jaskier and all Witchers out of their stupor. 

“Erm… no, Ciri. That one is very private. I’m sure, there will be someone who will sing it with you some day, though.”

“Hmm.”, rumbled Geralt. Since the bard was fluent in this language by now he knew that it meant ‘over my dead body!’

“And what happened next?”, the princess asked to know, ignoring her father. 

“Before we parted in front of the statue of Melitele, she kissed me on the lips and said “May you be blessed with prosperity.” And then she left me and went her way. To the south this time. But I didn’t follow through with it right on the spot. I had a boat to catch, after all. So off I went, out of this strange place full of antagonisms. A city full of plagues and hospitals, of cheap brothels and tempels of fertility goddesses alike. And when I finally reached Oxenford -”   
there was a malicious smile spreading all over Jaskiers pretty face-   
“-I beat Valdo Marx to a bloody pulp. Figuratively speaking. No one was harmed except his massive ego.”

“YOU WON THE CONTEST?”, squealed Cirilla excitedly, as if that was the most important part of the story, and hugged Jaskier. When she looked up at him again, she seemed so proud of the fact that a bard she knew, _her personal bard and friend_ , bested all the other bards of Redania. 

Sweet Melitele, he would kill for that girl. 

“From that point on my life got wild. Like from zero to master bard. Everyone wanted me to play at their parties and weddings. I was so in demand that I actually had to _turn down jobs_. How new was that. So I played in some places, always enough coin for a comfy bed and a glass of Elbling wine. But every job I took was a little bit more to the south. And suddenly I was asked to sing and play at Queen Calanthes court. Time and time again. And I couldn’t refuse royalty. I have no idea why she liked me so much.”

“It was the lewd songs”, she answered and seemed put out. “I was send to bed, before I could ever hear them." 

“Thank god.”, muttered Geralt. 

“Well, thanks to your gramdmother I could now buy all the shiny doublets I always wanted. And I looked so good in them, that I was happy when I ran into Geralt again, because I desperately needed a bodyguard.”

“Because you were so shiny?” Ciri was confused. Did she miss something here?

“… yes. Exacly.” 

“Hmmm.” Ah. The grunt of vicarious embarrassment, frustration and barely concealed aggression. Jasker knew that one in all of it’s facets.

“Anyway, your grandmama invited a lot of people to this really big banquet, where a lot of nobles offered your beautiful mother their hand in marrige and -” “Oh,oh, this story I know!” “- right. Everything was really crazy for a moment. And suddenly I noticed this old woman there, who would be barely able to duck from all the stuff flying around. Like swords and halberts and daggers. And amazingly enough my will to survive is finally kicking in and all I can think about is grabbing her and some other helpless people, pushing them under the table to take cover. And while your Witcher dad told your grandma, that he doesn’t give a fly about what destiny wants- which turned out to be a great thing, because I could write a _whole Cycle_ of ballads about all the shit that happened after that-”

Eskel and Lambert nodded their mutual agreement here as if to say “yep, thats Geralt alright.”

“In that exact moment I looked at that old woman. And I recognized those eyes. Under all those wrinkles and lines, scars and this exhausted look she has. She was my milk maiden. And I swear, she was the most beautiful woman that I laid eyes on that day.

There was not much fight left in her. But she is a mother and she will give her last breath gladly to protect what is hers. She is a fighter like every other man out there. I can only imagine, what she saw along the way, but it made her the way she was. And that was a hag - a woman - with the greatest heart, the softest smile and the resolutest will. God, she was still so lovely.

And when she kissed me between my brows - right here - she whispered “May you be blessed with eternal youth. Look after the cub and the wolf.” And then I heard Pavetta hurl, so I turned around and _realized_ \- well...   
I made a promise that day. I promised on every dandelion there was in this field where we met, that I would look after the cub and the wolf. So I did. And checked on you. Every birthday. And every cold winter. I made you laugh and smile when you looked lonely. And I wrote you songs about the witcher and his adventures. I even got that advisor kicked out who looked at you in inaproppiate ways. And then I went and checked on that wolf, even though he was quite a hand full. But I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

I guess, all those blessings are the real deal. Because even when something horrible happened, something really good came to pass after that. Because even when I had no coin left, there was still an abundance of love and adventure. And obviously - because I never aged a day since. You are looking out for each other now, I guess. But as long as these blessing are still in place I will fulfill my promise.” 

…

  
There was silence for a while.   
And then the bard got the biggest hug he ever received from a girl that age. He smiled at her with love in his eyes when she finally let go of him. Ciri looked dazzled for at least another minute, her mouth slightly agape. 

And then - she was Geralts daughter after all - she completely destroyed the moment. 

“I need to pee.”

Jaskier acted shoked, pressing a hand on his heart exaggeratedly. “Young Lady! What did we learn just the other day?”  
She rolled her eyes. “May I be excused?”  
“You may. And wash your face while you are at it, love. That ink on your nose is really distracting.” 

She sprinted out of her seat and into the hallway. “No running,” mumbled Jaskier halfheartedly. But Ciri learned enough today. Also: those bloody hallways were fucking cold. Jaskier himself avoided to get from one room to the other without wearing at least one fur coat and thick woolen socks. 

The silence stretched again, when he started to clean up the mess, that was the common room table.

When the minstrel looked up he noticed all the baffled faces. Especially Geralt looked at him as if he just grew a second head. 

All these times he traveled with Jaskier suddenly appeared in a totally different light. If they wouldn’t have met in Possada, then he never would have attended that banquet, which gifted him the most precious thing he ever had: his daughter. If the bard was really blessed with luck then it would explain why he was fishing for that dschinn for two fucking hours, but found it just when Jaskier arrived. Which led to him meeting Yennefer. And now that he thought about it… When traveling with Jaskier, he always had a little bit more coin at the end of the hunt than traveling without the bard. Every time a monster tried to get a bite out of Jaskier, he stumbled just right, so there never was life threatening damage done. Even Geralt had some odd occurrences, where he had more luck than brains when Jaskier was near. He tried to think about all his travels with the bard and the implications this informatin brought to light. His mind was reeling.

“Is that story true?”

Jaskier smirked.   
“You really think I fucked the goddess Miletele, Geralt? That she blessed a humble bard so he would look out for her child of destiny? Really? You know perfectly well that I always love to take my literary liberty. It’s just a lovely story to teach Ciri that you have to be respectful to people, no matter their age. She even got a small geography lecture without noticing. That’s all there is to it.”

Jaskier picked the reddest apple out of the bowl, biting in it and chewing very slowly, all the while looking into Geralts eyes, deeply and unblinking. 

“Or is it?”

He picked up his inks and papers, leaving the room and the four speechless witchers, happily munching on his apple, a swagger in his step. 

It was always fun to leave an audience in suspence.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think?
> 
> No native speaker. No beta. No shame.
> 
> Song: Ruth B - Dandelions
> 
> Kudos to everyone who picks up references from the books and the games.
> 
> For anyone not familiar with Witcher lore: Melitele is the mother goddess, the goddes of midwifes. Melitele, as a patroness of eternally transient nature, is presented in three forms: the beautiful young Maiden, the mature, pregnant Mother and the edentulous, wrinkled Crone. Under her second aspect, Melitele is the goddess of fertility, protectress of women pregnant or in childbirth; all women, regardless of their age, domicile or social position, have an esteem for her. A lot of people in the books and games swear with the sentence "Meliteles tits!", and I imagine she is oddly proud of that. Jaskier certainly thinks they are very lovely and should get all the attention they deserve.


End file.
